A SMOOTH SEA NEVER MADE A SKILLED SAILOR.
Wise words, but actually joining a ship these days isn’t smooth seas and takes skill just to get through the paperwork.
The 1970’s were different: you’d casually sling your bag in the cabin, walk to the bridge and sign on followed by a visit to the crew bar to meet shipmates – no strangers, just friends you’ve never met.
Or if there wasn’t a crew bar, instead you’d go to the nearest dockside pub. In Liverpool’s extensive docks, it could be the Caradoc in Seaforth, or the Pier Head’s Baltic Fleet.
In Southampton, home to the liners, you’d sign on and thereafter visit the Royal Standard.
This seafarers’ boozer came to life especially on Wednesday when a new crew would arrive for the forty-two day voyage to South African ports sailing on a Friday.
Only a few minutes from the Union Castle berth, even if unlucky to cop a harbour watch you could return to the Standard later in the evening.
There was a carefree atmosphere as blokes looked forward to sailing to foreign ports out in the sunshine; indeed, all human life was in these pubs providing a great social hub for seamen.
It didn’t end there because after sailing, both crew and officer bars would be open providing a sea-going social hub.
So ashore and afloat, guys would talk about myriad subjects, especially their events of ‘last trip’ when they sailed to other destinations: Australia & New Zealand, North America, Japan, etc, were all highly-rated; by contrast, South Africa wasn’t highly rated – most crews slammed the injustices of Pretoria’s apartheid, especially the cops who prevented us socialising with local black people.
Which begged the question: ‘why are you going there?’
The answer usually involved a need to get away anywhere – nothing wrong with that, I thought.
We’re all professional seafarers needing a job.
Eventually, Union Castle’s SA service was withdrawn as were similar liner runs from Liverpool.
However it is ironic that in 2023 after years of capital flight, flagging-out and job-shedding of the UK merchant fleet, the Caradoc, Baltic Fleet and Royal Standard pubs have all survived – the Standard doing especially well as a gastropub/listed building.
No doubt here – someone’s run successful and responsible enterprises over the years and it’s not UK shipping companies either.
But returning to signing on and it’s a fact is that today’s seafarer has a far more sober experience and would not be allowed to proceed further than top of the gangway before ID is double-checked – if you’re joining a cruise ship it’s worse, for your bags go through a scanner (probably best to leave that bottle of Bacardi at home!).
During your ‘processing’ you’re given a numbered ID card – it’s useful to copy the ID to your phone, by the way, because if lost ashore it’s difficult to convince dockside security that you’re not a terrorist.
You also receive a PIN code for the internet.
Time to sign on. Don’t have any ideas of a quick squiggle on the articles and adjourning to the pub because (taking ages) all your documentation will also be double-checked.
The captain understandably has to be thorough however. I sailed for three weeks with an engineer whose ENG (medical certificate) expired at sea from New York – no-one bothered to check and arrange a new medical leaving the US – lots of embarrassment all round (I think the whole incident was brushed under the carpet before the MCA knew).
Officially committed to the voyage, in previous times you’d look forward to a beer, but instead you receive a short lecture about alcohol/zero tolerance/substances applicable for the entire duration of the contract. Having said that some companies do issue beer albeit on a controlled basis, but more about that later.
The accommodation block is quiet. Compared to old ships with the constant chatter of people passing through alleyways; cabin doors clanging amidst a faint smell of diesel, there’s a strange sterility accompanied by just the soft hum of air conditioning. Plenty of whiteboards with instructions not to do this or that, but overwhelmingly you notice there’s no-one around except for the guy who is escorting you to your cabin (‘we’re only minimum manning’, he says).
Hours of processing ensues: familiarisation tours around the ship; memorising the designated person ashore’s name; safety briefs; PPE and work clothes issue – and you may even have time to check out the recreation room and gym.
The ‘rec’ room is pale veneer, Scandinavian furniture with a large screen TV and cupboards full of DVDs and paperbacks, whilst the gym has expensive state-of-the-art equipment.
Similarly, the cabins are liveable with tv’s, en suite and framed prints of English pastoral scenes.
The downside is that of the crew members not on duty, most seem to spend their time behind cabin doors – on this vessel I rarely saw anyone in the nicely-furnished recreation room.
It’s vastly different on a cruise ship but on this vessel from the hours 19:00-06:00 it was a rarity to see anyone at all.
Fast-forward one week later and it was plain to see why crew numbers are drastically reduced: for example, this is the age of modernity and engine and auxiliary systems self-diagnose (less need to get the spanners out); most food is pre-packaged and frozen; even high-tech ship’s paint needs fewer crew to maintain it, whilst the radio communications are replaced by the internet.
By the way, the internet is not widely loved; for sure, it’s instant communication and crew do not wait weeks or months for letters from home any more. A dad can Skype his family and sports fans can follow live football.
But after a week aboard a modern ship, one big complaint – especially from skippers and chief engineers – is the sheer volume of unnecessary emails they spend time dealing with.
And the second complaint is from crew about the slow speed and limited bandwidth the company provides. It’s usually ok for emails and pictures but trying to access a website in which, perhaps, you’d like to send a present to your partner, for example, proves difficult.
This bit is easily remedied should the notoriously tight shipowner spend more money, of course.
In response, shipowners would say they do spend money, albeit this money is on ease of access and communication for commercial purposes – not crew welfare. So from the crew side there’s a huge level of distrust over the internet. All are resentful of the way the internet intrudes and monitors day-to-day life.
For example, head office’s internet link would register the first time a PIN code is entered, but it also knows the exact time a permit to work was signed on/off; an hours-of-rest form is submitted – it even knows through a computerised a la carte menu what the crew are having for lunch.
Similarly, by way of live camera from variousmarine websites it can also check out the weather we’re having and condition of deck paintwork as the ship navigates to the next port.
Another bizarre routine involves some of the more enlightened companies which do permit crews to have a small daily allowance of beer (usually two cans of 3.8% beer), but insist that the transaction is recorded.
So the company is updated on the time you drank your first can of beer to the time you open the second – all this from thousands of miles away when it’s 21:00 Pacific Time, but 14:00 in a London office.
Nonetheless, such companies – typically, UK environmental research ships – do accept that controlled alcohol contributes to a social life, something severely lacking on a ‘dry’ ship.
In support of this we could consider the following based upon a study of mainly Filipino seafarers:
The International Maritime Health Journal commissioned a report which warned that ‘the effect on seafarer’s mental health through excess exposure to the internet cannot be over-exaggerated.’
(1)
Briefly, it states that studies of 150, mainly Filipino, seafarers found that those who spent the longest off-duty periods online were nearly 3 times more likely to have on-board anxiety problems.
(2)
So it’s not such a simple toss-up in deciding whether the internet provides more opportunities than limitations, but instead a question of social isolation at sea being bad for mental health – and every merchant seaman knows the answer to that one.
Meanwhile so much for the week’s outward bound voyage in a strange ‘down the rabbit hole experience’ and are now tied up in Valencia, Spain.
Valencia is Spain’s second largest port city and traditionally very welcoming too – so who wouldn’t want to go ashore?
Which changed when the skipper cheerfully announced ‘we’re only in for ten hours’, adding that ‘if anyone needs shopping ashore, let me know’ (in other words it’s doubtful if anyone will get shore leave). This very shortened turnaround period is normal these days; indeed on super-sized container vessels carrying 12k TEU’s it’s usual to get just 4 hours alongside in Singapore.
Due to lack of cargo we stayed in Valencia for four days instead – happily the internet didn’t figure in ‘pegging-out’ to go ashore – but if you wanted to wash the salt from your throat, so to speak, there’s always the worry of a D&A test (Drug & Alcohol) on return.
The D&A team always turn up unannounced early morning; I have witnessed a few guys being found ‘over the limit’ – ultimately they’re sacked and maritime safety notwithstanding, it’s viewed as a particularly sneaky move by the shipping company.
In contrast, European port security guards are mainly easy-going on crews returning to their respective ships: keep quiet, show your ID and you’re ok.
However in the US, especially in ports manned by the Coast Guard, there have been incidents where captains have been notified of crew at the gate ‘seeming the worse for drink.’
Make of it what you will, but life isn’t smooth seas anymore.
Instead it’s similar to life ashore in its need to turnover money faster and regularly.
I probably would have been more accepting of this fact had I not chanced upon an online Telegraph (UK) presenting an article titled Sea no evil: the life of a modern sailor (25/01/2011).
Very informative, the Telegraph concludes that most modern-day seafarers are simply ‘prisoners with a salary’ (3) and after narrating this true-life article of my own I’m inclined to agree.
REFERENCES:
1) Nautilus International (15/06/2021) Social media may damage mental well-being at sea,
(accessed 28/09/2023)
2) Ibid
3) onlinetelegraph, (25/01/2011) Sea no evil: the life of a modern sailor, (accessed 27/09/2023)